The Balinor Chronicles II: Souls of Fire
by Asmodeus1389
Summary: All tales are recorded in The Balinor Chronicles, and all must play their parts. These are the tales of those who came before in the Valley of Fear.
1. The Artist's Palette

The Balinor Chronicles II: Souls of Fire  
Chapter One: The Artist's Palette

For Amy Anglette, who, upon hearing my endless complaints of boredom, grew frustrated and declared that I should write a sequel. So I did.

* * *

Colors are a strange, yet fascinating, subject to study. Only in the world of colors can you get paradoxes such as the ones you find there. It is only when light is broken that color appears… And the world of colors is the only place in which you can get purity by mixing everything together…

White light is made up of every color known to man. When white light separates, it forms the colors red, orange, yellow, green, blue, and violet. So in a sense, you can say that the Celestial Herd is the definition of good. They are a Rainbow, thus white light. And has not white always been the definition of good?

And just as white is the combination of all colors, so is black the absence of all colors. Black is synonymous with evil, the opposite of good and white. It is always the fear of the dark that lurks in the hearts of mortals; and does not the Dark One himself revel in the shadows formed by fire? Yes, darkness and black are the sum of everything wrong with the worlds, in all worlds this is true, in all worlds an agreement is at last meet.

But what would light be without the contrasting dark?

What follows, as is with that which came before, is an account from the Balinor Chronicles. These stories are nothing more than fairy tales, designed to amuse the listener on the Night of the Shifter's Moon, when it seems no dawn will come. But as you listen, remember, you can only have darkness when there is light, and only white when there is black.

And remember, my friend, not all things are as they seem.


	2. The Curse of Color

The Balinor Chronicles II: Souls of Fire  
Chapter Two: The Curse of Color

* * *

In the time after Time began, but before Time truly awoke from its slumber, a magnificent Herd of Unicorns lived in a Valley. Since, this Herd and the Valley have earned the name Celestial, but that is another story for another night, and does not belong in this tale. This Herd was spectacular in many ways, possessing many gifts from the Supreme Ruler. The most impressive of these gifts was that no two unicorns were the same color.

Perhaps this was also its curse.

In the Time before Balinor, the Twilights emerged. Scorned by the Golden One Solaris, these dark shaded unicorns were rejected solely because their coats did not fall within the span of the rainbow. Eventually, led by the Heir of Diablo and numerous generals, these Twilights embarked upon a crusade for their freedom. Although they eventually triumphed, their numbers were greatly reduced by the time they left the Valley. Fortunately for the Twilights, the number of Celestials was also decimated, both by war and by age. And as the Twilight Unicorns retreated, their Lord Protector sealed the pool of the Dreamspeakers shut, binding the Dreamspeakers, ensuring that the Celestials would never be able to create an army in the world into which the Twilights had fled.

The land to which they fled was a land of darkness formed by the light. The land to which they fled was wrought with flame; its fires creating the darkness in which the Twilights rejoiced. The land to which they fled was their own. The land to which they fled was the Fiery Fields.

The Fiery Fields, a crude imitation of the lands of the Dark One, was the only place these cursed Unicorns had to go. In time, their coats finished their transformation to black, caused by both soot and darkness. Abandoned by their kind and doomed to death, the Twilights became Shadows became evil incarnate.

This is their tale, told on the Night of the Shifter's Moon, the only time when the Shadows can wander without any fear of their starry brothers. This is their tale, told on the Night of the Shifter's Moon, when darkness is everywhere and Shadows are unleashed upon the world. This is their chapter in the Balinor Chronicles; a chapter that must be told in order for the others to be complete.

For when all sides gather on the moonless night, these, my friend, these Balinor Chronicles are the tales that they tell.

And the Dark shall inherit the earth...


	3. Traveler

The Balinor Chronicles II: Souls of Fire  
Chapter Three: Traveler

This Chapter is dedicated to The Silver Traveler, who suggested this as a topic for one of The Celestial Herd's stories, and was patient enough to see it in the second Chronicles.

* * *

Callista, often called Traveler by her herd mates, was unique among the Celestials. She had been the last born before the end of the Great War and, for some reason or another, her coat never changed color. She remained as white as the day she was born.

It was in the rule of Astrum, son of Arkim, that Traveler's sister was Dreamspeaker. The two were close and Traveler often accompanied her sister to do her work in the Mortal Realms. It was on one of these missions that she met someone she did not intend to meet and did something that she never regretted.

Kamil was an average Shadow. Nothing much more could be said for him, other than that he might be slightly taller than normal. Now, in this time of Shadowian might, the black Unicorns of the Shifter wandered across Terra, for Balinor had not entirely arisen to drive the Shifter threat back to whence it came. (In this day, similar to the future reign of Entia, a Shadow Unicorn could wander with virtual impunity – for one dead would result in six swooping in upon his murderers.)

It was on one such wandering that Kamil ran into someone he did not intend to meet and did something that he never regretted.

As things would happen (and they did), a white mare ran into a black stallion and neither was quite certain as to what was to be done with the other. According to the strictest of both their kinds' laws, each ought to kill the other. However, Traveler was born toward the end of the war of the Twilights and the Celestials, and she knew little of killing and death. And Kamil, though well skilled in the ways of death, had never set eye upon a unicorn as white as the one ahead of him.

Perhaps that was what saved Traveler – Kamil's astoundedness at seeing such a creature like her. Since the Dreamspeakers arose to ground the Watching Pool into Balinor, the only Celestials who had walked the world below had been the Bonded Unicorn – rarely straying from his perch in the Palace – and the Dreamspeakers themselves, who in truth, had little to do with Shadows, especially those of little importance.

The two stood as still as any Unicorn could, staring into the eyes of the one ahead – Kamil in the pale hazel of Traveler; Traveler into the ruby red of Kamil. Neither moved. And here – the most important – Neither killed the other. They just stared.

The staring was what saved Kamil – for Traveler, being so young when the Twilights fled the Valley, had never seen a unicorn as black as the one ahead of her. She would not kill him – but she still had a voice, and if she had screamed, her sister – older and much wiser in the ways of death – would swoop down upon the black unicorn, regardless of crime.

None can say what none now know. None can say how long the two stood transfixed for. It might have been minutes. It might have been a day. They might have stayed longer – in fact, probably would have – had their trances not been broken by a long, high pitched whinny. It was no ordinary whinny though. It was one of distress, pain, and a cry for help. It also echoed with the sound of bells and the scent of roses.

Traveler looked away, ashamed. "I must leave," she said, "for surely, that is my sister, in great need of my help." She turned to go, pale coat shimmering.

Kamil suddenly found his hooves, and did a half-circle around her. "But I cannot let you leave," he replied, "for if that is truly your sister, than surely one of my brothers is there as well…for what else would dare attack a Celestial?"

They might have stood like that along time too, but another whinny broke over the trees. This one was also a call for help, but it was deep, thunderous, and made you want to quail with fright. Kamil hesitated, then turned to gallop away.

But Traveler circled him and was there to meet him as he turned. "But if that is your brother, I should surely not let you go. For my sister could surely not stand up to two."

And so they continued, each circling the other, neither reaching the battle. And as they ran and whirled, Kamil admired the grace and beauty of the mare, and Traveler admired the stallion's pride and strength. But they continued to circle. And they continued, until they reached the end of the world – for truly, truly I say to you, it is the world is flat and it is the sky that is round…

They fell off the edge together, but they did not much fall as fly, still circling, but this time in the sky.

When Traveler arose the next night in the sky, her magnificent Celestial coat reflected the lights of the sky and of the earth, giving her an eerie silver glow – one that looks red when it stays too close to the horizon and reflects too many campfires. So Traveler is once again known as Silver Traveler(except at the Harvest, when she turns russet), and she and Kamil circle each other, again and again, in love and in war.

When Traveler's side faces Terra, all smile and dance in her light. When Kamil's side faces Terra, his brothers rejoice that the Celestial eye is turned. With the night as their camouflage, they run loose upon the world, often with their Lord Protector, the Shifter, close behind.

Since and forth, all such nights have been known as Nights of the Shifter's Moon.


	4. Time and Time Again

The Balinor Chronicles II: Souls of Fire  
Chapter Four: Time and Time Again

* * *

When the Twilights left the Celestial Valley, they were like their starry brothers: near immortals, capable of being slain, but possessed of life so great in longevity they lived all but forever. When the Twilights left, they were as such.

When they arrived in the Mortal Realms, they made a very important discovery, and that discovery was Time.

Time only has half a foot in the Celestial Valley – the land protected by the Supreme Ruler, He-Who-Rules-All.

But in the Mortal Realms – that is another story altogether.


	5. This

The Balinor Chronicles II: Souls of Fire  
Chapter Five: This

* * *

This, this is the Fiery Fields…Terra Incognita – the land unknown to man. For man does not dare venture out on to it. It is the land of demons and ghouls, of fire and Shadows. This is the land where even the darkest nights are lit by fires and the coldest of winters are as sultry as summer.

This, this is the Valley of Fear. It is man's idea of Hell on earth – the sum of everything he fears and hates. A massive underground volcano oozes hate and spreads heat in the Valley – one that should be covered in ice is instead all but a barren desert. The Valley of Fear is just that – the one place man knows he will never understand. Never understand why Celestials fled one Valley for another Valley; why The Shifter Lords are eternally bent on conquest of the lands south and east; why evil is allowed such a command of magic – all these things and more man will never understand. So that leads him to fear.

This, this is the Valley of Fear. And these are the Shadows. There are few Twilights left, now. Time has claimed his share. Death has ridden off with others. But there are some – Moloth, still proud, still strong, still the last. And his legacy lives on – in those marked with the Fire eyes of his line, Moloth's descendants form the core of the Demon Herd. There are a few others left – Karma, Moloth's redder half- sister, spy for the Twilights until she was revealed by a double-crosser named Eternitus, and who bore no fewer than ten of her brother colts in her time; and the cursed Lotaringe, that long forsaken Storm of a Twilight; and others, all as powerful as the last.

Some of the younger Shadows were discussing the gods of Terra. 'Discussing' was the key term in that sentence. – within minutes, the discussion would have become an argument, and then the argument a fight, horns included, which, in the law of survival of the fittest, might have resulted in any number of deaths. 'Might' is the key term in _that_ sentence – for Moloth had been strolling by and he had ended that argument in a heart beat.

"He-Who-Knows-All," Fresk began, "would be certain to beat He-Who-Rules-All, because, frankly, He knows all. He would know what the Supreme Ruler did before he did it – "

"But He-Who-Rules-All," retorted Banj, "rules all. He-Who-Rules-All – "

But Banj never finished what he was going to say, for Moloth chose that moment to commandeer the conversation, voice dripping with contempt.

"Don't call him that. He doesn't rule us."

_-/o_

Such is the way of the Valley of Fear that not even He Who Rules has power there.


	6. The Tale of Caliman and Barr

The Balinor Chronicles II: Souls of Fire  
Chapter Six: The Tale of Caliman and Barr

* * *

This chapter is dedicated to Dark Unicorn Lurking – first reviewer of the second Chronicles.

* * *

_-/o_

Time creates tales. Such is its way – it cannot keep from creating them anymore than you may stop from breathing. Time creates tales: it always has, and always will.

And one of its most famous tales is that of Caliman and Barr. Of the Light and the Dark. Of the Sun and the Shadow. Of the Hunter and the Hunted. Of Caliman and Barr.

Caliman was the Bonded Unicorn of Queen Ventoka. They lived many happy years together. They did a good job of not doing bad works, but couldn't really do too many great works, so they lived their reign just doing good works and being general good rulers. But Ventoka grew old; and Caliman was all but immortal. And so, many of his adventures – his greatest in fact – were done without the ailing Ventoka.

Barr, as is fitting to tales such as these, was a Shadow Unicorn. But Barr was an interesting case indeed. In this time, several distinctions were being made. There were plain Shadow Unicorns – and then there was the Demon Herd – those born of pure Celestial descent, and therefore more powerful – an elite strain of Shadow, you might say. Barr's sire was Kreenan, who could trace his descent back to Moloth and Karma, and then beyond them, to Mulciber himself. But Barr's dam; she was Antrik, who was born of a mortal unicorn, lured into the Valley of Fear by Shadowian power. And that left Barr in a very awkward situation indeed. Unable to gain the power he saw as birthright through his lineage, he was forced to attain it through great deeds. And what would be a greater deed than killing a Celestial?

And where is a better place to find a Celestial then at Balinor Palace?

It was a dark and stormy night when Barr arrived in the town surrounding the Palace. Actually, the night itself wasn't too bad – half moon, slightly overcast and chilly – but by all rights it should have storming, so that is how it is remembered.

Most of the storm lived inside Barr's heart. He had been raised in a Herd which valued dishonor before death and treason before defeat. He had been raised in a Herd where there were no innocents – for all of the black coat and ruby eyes were condemned from birth. So when he arrived at the heart of Balinor, a cloud was shining down upon his heart and lightning endlessly smote his conscience. For what better way to hurt a Celestial than kill that which he loves?

Blood was spilt that night, yet no storm of mortal worlds can wash such stains away.

Caliman came to Barr. He had to. He was sworn to act as Lord of the Animals, and, by extension, humans. To be Lord was to Protect, so Caliman came to stop the blood shed. Not that he thought he would die – it was only one Shadow, after all, not a Herd of them.

But he did not reckon on said Shadow being Barr – he with no reason to return home except in victory. Barr, who had spent all his life attaining his power and influence through victory in battle. Barr, who needed the continued support of his Lord Protector to maintain his position as a general. From such beings come desperate deeds.

From such desperate deeds are legends born.

Caliman faced Barr. The two engaged chivalrously, for such was the style of fighting in that day. And as they struck and parried, it occurred to each unicorn at the same time exactly that neither would win this fight. Barr could weave and duck and bob all he like, but he just couldn't compete with the sheer brute strength of the Celestial Unicorn. And Caliman could hammer and pound on Barr till his heart's content, but if Barr was never where the killing stroke fell, Caliman couldn't kill him.

And Caliman had another problem. They were in the capital city, after all. And if you recall, there was a half-moon and many clouds (but no storm, unicorns only fight in storms if they can't avoid it.). It gets really dark when the Traveler and Kamil duck behind the clouds for a quick lover's embrace. Really dark. And, there being a murderous Shadow hanging around, there was lots of panic. Really dark and lots of panic are not a good combination.

And Caliman, if you recall again, was Sun. Ergo, he was the only bright object in the capital – and a familiar one, at that. Barr just sort of blended into the background, and took a stab (usually quite accurate) whenever anyone got too close.

So Caliman, who was trying to defend his people, had to keep them out of Barr's reach, and keep Barr from overpowering his own defenses. Not fun. Not fun at all.

Caliman eventually tried to lure Barr out of the city. But whenever he turned, wherever he circled, the shadow was always one step ahead of him. Always.

-/o

They still fight to this day – Caliman and Barr, evenly matched, evenly fighting; evenly living, evenly cursed. Caliman is still running, trying to keep Barr from his precious mortals. And as he runs, his horn points North – always and only. The very tip of his horn never wavers – and because it hangs just above the pole, it is Polaris – the pole star. It is a beacon for the humans and the animals – a sign they can follow even when Traveler fades. And still circling around him, around and around, is Barr – keeping him from safety, from victory… from home.

So the world is left sort a star… and a shadow. Yet Shadows are more common in this world… and a new Celestial soon became Lord.

So which one won, and which one lost? For in no game were there ever two winners.


	7. The Men Who Rode Shadows

The Balinor Chronicles II: Souls of Fire  
Chapter Seven: The Men Who Rode Shadows

* * *

This chapter is dedicated to Pink Eraser, second reviewer, comrade-in-arms in forum visiting, and annoying pain in the rear. JK, JK.

* * *

Time passed, again as Time was so fond of doing. But not so much time as one would expect, for, well, life moves on. Mortals live brief lives and so are forced to scurry from one meeting to another, never realizing that the next meeting might be with Death. So Time, passed, and many forgot things they shouldn't have – although it was remembered by some, namely, on the Night of the Shifter's Moon.

And as Time passed, it sort of… gathered momentum, one might say, rather like one stallion charging another. And when I say it gained momentum, I mean more that it was like a chain of dominos, really, with each small little piece knocking over the next in line. Of course, the only problem with this analogy is that Time's dominos have this annoying little habit of knocking over two different trails of wooden rectangles, or jumping ahead and knocking down one, skipping the ones in the middle, or popping a balloon.

Such is the fate of Time – to be a bloody, unpredictable hydra of 'maybes', 'perhapses' and 'what-ifs.'

_o\-_

And as Time passed, it came to pass that the Valley of Fear gained a slightly infamous reputation. Such a reputation may not have been entirely undeserved, but alas, we are all mortal.

It came that one man, a thief whose name is now lost to, well, Time, found his life within close reach of a hangman's noose and so booked passage on a ship to the one place he knew the detachment sent to catch him would refuse to go –The Valley of Fear. The current Shifter Lord, Tasao, was highly amused by the thief – it had been many years since man had willingly set foot in his domain – and treated him with as much respect as a demon Lord can bestow upon a thief seeking sanctuary.

Word travels as well as Time. Alas. How terrible.

When Word passed that this thief – himself a former prominent figure in the underground of Balinor – had found safety and solace in the Valley of Fear, many more went after him.

The men that followed in the steps of the thief came from all walks of life. There were other fugitives from the law, bastard sons seeking their riches elsewhere, rovers, former caravan guards who had lived past their prime, soldiers dismissed unhonourably from assorted armies, men who had lost everything in fire, or war, or fiasco. There were all different and they were all the same.

And when the men who followed the footsteps of Fate arrived, they found themselves mountless – for unicorns never have rode well on ships, and in this time of more limited travel, many would not even step hoof on the wooden contraptions. So these men, betrayed by the worlds, looked around, and found a handy supply of unicorn flesh just waiting to be tamed.

And these men, these traitors, thieves, murderers, and soldiers who belonged to no country, found something very peculiar when they went to ride the Shadows – much in the way of Celestial and Princess, they would bond – not a strongly as the pureblood Celestials would, but strongly enough. And the ties that bind – they can never break.

_o\-_

These men were the Riders of Shadows- the Shadow Riders, whose actions would alter the fate of the world. By mounting the unicorns in battle, they trusted that their steeds would carry them true, not toss them to the ground, and, if necessary, save them. These beings were the first beings in a long time to truly trust the Shadows. And slowly, the shattered hearts of the unicorns healed, and slowly, the Shadows began to trust the men in return. And in such way did the Shadows become known for their fierceness in battle and their loyalty to each other.


	8. The Legend of Cyrus and Andromeda

The Balinor Chronicles II: Souls of Fire

Chapter Eight: The Legend of Cyrus and Andromeda

This Chapter is dedicated to the still (very) parish Amry, who puts up with my unfailing chatter about living elements, talking shadows, pancake worlds, and windows that can see anything….

In this time during which the Shadow Riders arose, there also came many champions – the bravest and boldest of the fledgling army. And while the name of the first man to come to the Fiery Fields was forgotten, the name of the first pair of Rider and Shadow was not. They were Cyrus and Andromeda.

Cyrus was the bastard son of one the great Lords of Balinor. When his father finally acquired a true heir, and Cyrus was denied his inheritance, the young man decided to seek his fortune in the army. Even there he was scorned for his birth, so he fled to place where none would know of his past – and I am certain that any listener of this tale can guess which place that was.

As for Andromeda – she was, like many of that Herd, a descendant of Mulciber, although her line ran truer than most. Her height would have challenged any Celestial, for she was long legged and deep chested, and just plain large – but that was well, for Cyrus was no small mortal either. Andromeda was sure-footed, fleet-footed, and many of the more bold (and, possibly, stupid) stallions could attest to the fact that she was incredibly hard-footed. She was courageous, independent, and mate and follower to no stallion. Why she would consent to follow Cyrus was any Shadow's guess.

But on one day, a day that was not different than any other, Cyrus found himself not ten paces from Andromeda, who was grazing on the little bit of scrub grass that grew in the shadow of Castle Tasao. Cyrus, hardly believing his fortune, took two steps forward; she took one step back.

By the end of the day, Cyrus had managed to haul himself onto Andromeda's back – a feat which had never before been managed on any Shadow, much less one as headstrong and short tempered as Andromeda. Although he could never coax a bridle onto her, she did permit him use a saddle, more due to habit than actual need - Cyrus found that Andromeda almost never threw him – unless he did something incredibly stupid, in which case he knew never to do that again.

Because they were the first, they were the best. After the deaths of Cyrus and Andromeda, many claimed that they only let them be the best out of respect, and held back their own skills. Personally, I tend to disagree with that – for two reasons. The first is that this was a band of cutthroats, after all, not a group of gentlemen farmers out for a weekend ride.

The second is that it was not any of the others who slayed the sea monster; it was Cyrus and Andromeda.

The monster had been preying on ships in the Strait of Maslo for weeks. It attacked without discrepancy, bring down fishers, traders, the few warships that existed and vital re-supply ships desired by the Valley of Fear and needed desperately by the slowly growing village of Ice Gatherers that was emerging just beyond the mountains. And it began to reflect quite poorly on Cyrus, General of the Army, when he couldn't procure enough supplies to feed his men and their mounts. Being unable to persuade some of his best fighters to kill the beast, Cyrus finally mounted Andromeda again and rode off to do it themselves. They commandeered a fishing boat from a local fisherman and rowed out to meet the monster alone.

The battle was relatively short – but it was definitive. Cyrus and Andromeda, working together as only Shadow and Rider knew how, managed to inflict myriad wounds on the monster, enabling Cyrus to finally saw off its head. Andromeda, perturbed that Cyrus had taken the killing blow for himself (and thus possibly ridding her of any glory) retaliated by stabbing Cyrus in his sword arm. However, as the corpse of the monster trashed in its death throes, the boat they were riding in splintered, casting them both into the icy sea. Cyrus, dragged under by his heavy winter cloak, was forced to let it drift away. He, being weakened by cold and by his wound, would have died that night, if not for Andromeda, who offered him her mane, and swum for shore, making sure that Cyrus did not freeze to death in the water. When they did reach the shore and found it deserted, Cyrus would have died on the sands, if not for Andromeda, who offered him her heat until the sun gave its scant warmth to the shivering man, at which point she ran for help, and brought it in the form of villagers, who were grateful for this slaying of the monster.

And so while it was Cyrus who killed the beast, it was Andromeda that saved the hero.

Together, they brought back news of the monster's death. When they told Tasao the description of the beast, he deemed that the duo had killed the greatest of all sea monsters, the Kraken. A feast was held in their honor, and they are remembered and being the first and the best.

Whether the monster they slew was truly the Kraken, or whether it was the all but forgotten Proteus, or whether it was merely another sea creature of lesser notoriety, the Shifter Lord Tasao hoped that it was Kraken. Kraken, a lesser demon and minion of the Dark One, was one of the few threats to the Shifter's power – especially when Tasao had found out that the Kraken had learned dark secrets from Proteus and whatever sorcerers it could lure into its grasp. Yes, a life without Kraken would be a significantly better life for Tasao. Whatever truth was really true, Tasao believed that Cyrus and Andromeda had killed the Kraken. And since that is what he believed, that is what happened.


	9. Interestingly Enough

The Balinor Chronicles II: Souls of Fire  
Chapter Nine: Interestingly Enough

* * *

This chapter is dedicated to Morgana the Ceiling Fan who added the syrup and blueberries to my pancake worlds. Pudding, Morgan, Pudding.

* * *

Interestingly enough, the next day, when a crew of Riders rowed back out to carcass (ambergris, ivory, bone, armor-tough hide, and claws are merely some of the valuable things that can be stripped from a sea creature carcass, not to mention a year's supply of freshly salted meat…), the Riders found a nasty shock. The carcass wasn't there. They did have enough sense to question an osprey, who informed them that there wasn't a carcass within his eyesight (and hawks have very good eyes), although it did appear that a rather large and hungry serpent was currently devouring something that appeared to have once been a whale.

Also interestingly enough, to this day, captains who sail the Strait of Maslo, swear, since the very day that Cyrus and Andromeda killed the insatiable sea monster, another one came that very night, ate the carcass of the dead monster, and was intelligent enough to only prey on one or two ships every year.

The captains however, can offer very little proof as to the truth of this statement – they claim it likes deep water, so it is rarely seen – although it is interesting to note that no other denizens of the deep have tried to claim the boat-ridden Straits of Maslo as their own territories ever since the days of Cyrus and Andromeda. Maybe the sea monsters fear the wrath of the Shadow Riders. Or it may be that perhaps the King of the Sea Serpents does yet live beneath the waves, killing anything that tries to steal its territory.


	10. Inheritance

The Balinor Chronicles II: Souls of Fire  
Chapter Ten: Inheritance

* * *

Tradition in every society holds that the offspring of a being inherit said being's possessions upon his or her death. In some instances, they go to the daughter, other times to the son, other times among all children.

But many overlook the important parts of inheritance. The ill is received alongside the good, and not just living beings may get their comeuppance.

Take, for example, the Celestial Valley – due to the decisions, and namely, the mistakes, of the Elemental Stallions, the Celestial Valley inherited a Rainbow….and the world inherited the Shadows.

Also, consider the lines of genetics – Moloth, for all his faults, was a powerful, creative fighter. In the society that arose in the mortal realms, mates were won through strength – meaning Moloth had many mares and therefore, many foals. These colts and fillies continued the line of Moloth – he of ruby eye and fiery temper – for decades amongst the Shadows. All, pardon the overused phrase, inherited his blood red eyes and short patience. Soon, these characteristics became synonymous with Shadow – indeed, they were so common that more could claim them than not. And so the Shadows inherited much vice, and yet, also much virtue, from he whom they hailed as founder of their herd.

And also, consider this – the heir of Diablo received his powers from the Dark One, and each Shifter Lord in turn inherits his powers from his sire – each son always killing his father when the time has come. So, for many, many years, the land of the Fiery Fields ran red not only with lava, but also with blood – and all know that the blood of fathers and kings carry many curses of its own….

And all shall pass the test of Time, and all shall receive their inheritance.


	11. The Origins of the Pale Rider

The Balinor Chronicles II: Souls of Fire  
Chapter Eleven: Of Mattias Infanger and His Mount Jarmeth, or, The Origins of the Pale Rider

* * *

In the time following the deaths of Cyrus and Andromeda, fierce competition for their former position took place. In the end, no winner resulted – instead, a variety of war lord – generals took their place. Although there were many powerful and better known partnerships, perhaps the strangest combination of Shadow and Rider was that of Mattias Infanger and the unicorn Jarmeth. 

If you would recall, all Celestials are born colorless. It was a sorry by product of involving the misuse of watching pools and the antics of certain stubborn and foolish princes, and the only other sign of its passing is the Curse of the Wayward Prince. But the state of colorlessness lasts hardly any time at all (to a Celestial), and so life moves on with a splendid array of color.

Now, Shadows, they are a different breed altogether. They are not born colorless – more a faded raggedy gray – for those who live in the lee of Deep Magic still feel its effects. And this state of grayness also lasts hardly any time (even for a Shadow), and the deep, dark, solid shadow coat grows in – whose brilliance is in turn soon covered by soot and ash from the Valley.

Jarmeth – Jarmeth was a special case. He was born colorless. This was, granted, exceedingly rare, but Shadows were descended from Celestials after all, and it is also known – even if not well understood – that inheritance from sire and dam to colt can play wonky tricks on men. And all gestured to Jarmeth's red eyes –surely a sign of a "true" Shadow. But as Jarmeth grew from colt to yearling – far longer than normal – Jarmeth's coat remained white. Granted, it was often marred by the traditional soot and ash, but it was still noticeable. Cover a piece of paper with dirt and you can still see the black letter; cover a unicorn with dirt and you can see that it is not black at all.

Jarmeth was still young (in a tricky transition state from colt to stallion, known only as double-yearling) when Mattias Infanger arrived. Infanger was also young – having been just old enough to enlist in the Balinorn army, he killed the wrong person, and did as most wrongdoers did – flee to the Valley of Fear. Having already been trained to fight and kill by the Balinorians, the Riders found they needed to do little more than give him a Shadow to create a soldier. Indeed, having been forced to leave everything he had behind, life had turned Infanger into something that was truly dangerous – a man with no reason to live. Such men are more dangerous then, for example, those with lots of reasons – for the simple reason that men with lots of reasons want to be around to be able to enjoy said reasons.

There is a saying that opposites attract. This is not true. If opposites did indeed attract, more Celestials would mate with Shadows, and more arch-enemies and heroes would be having affairs. As it is, likes attract.

The two outcasts of the Valley found each other. And they found each other more then suiting.

When Infanger managed to scrounge up enough clean water to do so, he washed the grime off of the white Shadow. The arduous task completed, Infanger saddled and bridled Jarmeth (by this time, Shadows permitted the use of bits, but only in battle, when four eyes on the look out for danger are most useful, and a line of communication is necessary), and the pair rode off into battle.

And what battles they were. There were conquests against the ice men, raids on Balinor, skirmishes in Deridia, clashes with Sorcerers. What victories they were.

And before each and every battle, Infanger would get a bucket of clean water and wash any dirt off of Jarmeth. Then the two would ride into the fray, and their enemies couldn't help but stare at the white Shadow. So it was that they were remembered – and the sheer psychological effect, combined with Infanger's unorthodox tactics and strategy, crafted victories out of defeat, routs out of utter chaos.

And so this Rider, this man and his unicorn, this demon and his white mount, were the most feared generals in any battle in Terra. His blade alone could spell doom for an army – and often they did. But more often than not Infanger did not command. He choose to ride alone, and so it became a common sight on the battlefield to observe a stern-impassive faced man turn an entire regiment to ribbons using only a sword and a pale coloured unicorn. In time, this Shadow Rider became known solely as the Pale Rider.

Even after he died – for all legends die – he was known as the Pale Rider, and is rumoured to stalk his old battlegrounds, but this time as Death himself.


	12. Blitzkrieg

The Balinor Chronicles II: Souls of Fire  
Chapter Twelve: Blitzkrieg

* * *

The Lord of Dark  
Will Someday Rule  
O'er Sirani's Dreams  
And Mare's mortal fools.  
--The Curse of the Heir of Diablo

* * *

Ever since Diablo left the Valley for the first time, the Heirs of Diablo have served self- imposed exiles inside their land of fire. For centuries, the Shifter Lords were denied to see the color of life as it was withheld from their eyes. For centuries, the Lords of the Valley of Fear dreamed of something more. 

And in a place where each Lord overthrows his own, and knows he will be overthrown by the next, schemes and plans and thoughts must be thought of in broader concepts. And so, every single move made by the Shifter Lords was deliberate and fore thought. And every single move was just a tiny step forward, an inch closer to the real goal.

And the goal was Balinor. Even before it had arisen as the greatest of nations, uniting the squabbling tribes, convincing war-kings of the greatness of being a Great House of Balinor, before even the true rise of the Royal Princesses, before all of this…. The Eye of the Shifter was always trained on Balinor.

And because of this, every single move made since Diablo, the First Shifter Lord, had arrived in the Mortal Realms was designed to bring the Shifters ever so closer. Every single move was conducted with the Shifter Lord looking over his land scorched with fire and his eyes strained upon the green of Balinor. Every single move.

In the game of chess, there is one particular combination of moves used by experts who don't wish to waste time playing against amateurs. It is name _Blitzkreig_. As chess itself is a war, so often is a particularly fast war, one or two battles at most, called Blitzkreig. Watch and Behold, for the master player is about to make as fine a game as any expert can play for…


	13. The Art of Back Doors

The Balinor Chronicles II: Souls of Fire  
Chapter Thirteen: The Art of Back Doors

* * *

When entering into someplace one generally shouldn't be found in, it is always preferable to have a back door. Through said door, one can enter, and escape, in a hurry. One can also make considerable money charging for others to cut through said backdoor.

So Behold, Deridia: Balinor's very own, veritable back door. Deridia itself is a province of Balinor, that, in the expansionist annexation days of old, choose to negotiate with rather then fight the growing country. Balinor was keen to accept, not because of Deridia's grand size or army (which, conveniently, does not exist), but because of its mines.

These aren't silver mines – those are in the far north, almost into Jessenor. Not gems, those are across the White Mountains, in Rek. Nor are they gold mines – for those are in the east of Balinor, above Sixton. Instead, Deridia exports coal.

Lots and lots of coal.

Coal, is of course, the solution to everything. Need to heat a city? The trees belong to the centaurs? Just buy some coal. And Deridia has lots of coal. They say that a man who goes into the mines can simply pick coal off the walls.

And Deridia is the back door to Balinor. Alas, Alas.

* * *

Now, Deridia did not just get conquered in one night. It took time. And patience. First the Shifter had to wait for just the right general to come along, one that was admired by the troops, but gritty enough to do what had to be done. And then, the Shifter needed ships. The Valley of Fear never had a navy. There was simply just no need. The entire army was comprised of cavalry, and unicorns and water just didn't mix. Still, through a variety of schemes, deals, and actual legit buying, a small navy was assembled to transport the army to Deridia. And then the real work was ready to begin.


	14. White To Mate in Three Moves

The Balinor Chronicles: Souls of Fire  
Chapter Fourteen: White to Mate in Three Moves

* * *

The Story-Teller's Aside: Blitzkrieg really does exist. It is a special series of moves that can win the game in three moves for white, or four, for black (who moves second, by standard rules of chess). Whichever side is playing blitzkrieg uses three pieces: two pawns, and the queen. Blitzkrieg is also called Fool's Mate, because the only people that it works on are either 1) fools or 2) sleeping or 3) not even aware they are playing…

But it is important to remember, as I stated above, that white moves first, under standard rules. However, if one happens to point in the opposite direction and exclaim "What in the world can that be?", one often receives the advantage by turning the board around in order to play white instead of black – and thereby receive the surprise attack of the first move.

So, behold: The Fool's Mate of Deridia in Three Moves or Less:


	15. Move One

The Balinor Chronicles II: Souls of Fire  
Chapter Fifteen: Move One

* * *

White: E2 to E4  
Black: F7 to F6

* * *

The general the Shifter had to wait for was Belisarius. Belisarius was from a line of what some would call "professional Shadowriders." There had been a member of Belisarius' family in every generation since the thief first came to the Fiery Fields. Having grown up in such a family, it only seemed natural that Belisarius became a general.

Belisarius himself rode Mulherin, one of the Demon Herd. Fiery eyed and strong, Mulherin won many mates in his time and his line still runs strong today. But his true fame came from Deridia. For it was Mulherin, Demon leader and spawn of Moloth, who ran the first steeplechase, with none other than the Shifter Lord Farnhar (new in power, granted) in his saddle.

* * *

Once the Shifter Lord had found his general (and was promptly overthrown and succeeded by his son, Farnhar (who was, in fact, the youngest Lord ever to rule, and now that I think of it, probably one of the best…)) the board received its last piece – in this case, the all important queen (or general, as the piece was called the "vizier" or the "general" in its original version – the Balinorian kings had to change the name to keep their generals from getting too many ideas…), and the game began.

* * *

Using the ragtag fleet that had been painstakingly assembled, the Riders loaded (or more often than not, if I recall correctly, dragged) their unicorns onboard and set sail. The magic of the Shifter kept foul weather away, and the ships made good time. They waited out of sight of the bay during the day, and then, at night, sailed through the easy-to-navigate harbour. Most of the unicorns, especially those on the smaller ships, chose to simply jump overboard, swimming strongly for shore, while their Riders dove off and followed behind. Others waited until the ships pulled up to the wharf. Invariably though, all the unicorns had burlap sacks tied over their hooves and specially rigged saddles and bridles which used little metal, in order to keep the invading army as quiet as possible. So quiet they remained, until the entire army lined the main street and the trumpeters let forth the attack call. 


	16. Move Two

The Balinor Chronicles II: Souls of Fire  
Chapter Sixteen: Move Two

* * *

White: D2 to D4  
Black: G7 to G5

* * *

The Army of Belisarius slaughtered the Deridian militia. It was a bloody and bitter battle. Towards the end, the officers and the few that remained fled into the coal mines.

* * *

You see, they knew they could outrun anything – most of them were miners in their normal lives and knew the tunnels as well as the Riders knew their unicorns.

* * *

And they also knew that if but a few of them could escape, they could warn Balinor – for they had no idea as to the intentions of the Shifter Lord – and then set up a sort of resistance opposing the occupation of Deridia.

* * *

The only problem, you see, is that the Shifter knew this part as well.

* * *

It ended tonight. 


	17. Move Three

The Balinor Chronicles II: Souls of Fire  
Chapter Seventeen: Move Three

* * *

White: Q to H5  
Checkmate

* * *

In later years, some would call it courage. In later years, others called it brilliance, the surest way to martyrdom, the truest definition of bravery, utter selflessness, or sheer stupidity. 

In reality, it was none of those things. It was the last stand, the last desperate grab for a victory that was lost before the first sword was drawn. It was a chance for survival, for life, for war, for better… and for worse.

In the now, it was this: the younger brother of the queen of Balinor was in Deridia that night, along with one of the finest Royal Unicorns – so fine in blood, in fact, it was over half Celestial. The Prince, at the first sound of fighting, had instantly rushed in, alongside the Deridians. The Shadow Riders destroyed his entire guard.

In the then, when the officers told the Prince of their plan to run in order to fight another day, the Prince agreed and made to go with them. But instead of following them into the mines, he and his Royal unicorn fled across the mines – over the top, gouged with entrances and exits, shallow lode digs, miniature plateaus of refuse and slag.

And at this moment, the Shifter looked up, and followed him.

* * *

It was to be called the Worst of All Losses.  
It was to be called the Greatest of All Races. 

In the times to come, jockeys would hope to be in a race that would dare to be compared to the one battled by Lord Farnhar and Prince Eutrusckes.

In the years ahead, the racer unicorns would spend years training to hope to come to the same level as Mulherin the black and Riverwalker the dead.

But that is the time when now is then, and here is there.

For this is how it happened.

* * *

When Prince Eutrusckes reached the edge of the fields of mines, he asked Riverwalker to rear. What good is there in being a diversion, if there is no one to divert, after all? So Riverwalker, tired as he was, reared in the finest capriole that would set any other stallion in the worlds to shame. His cream – coloured mane struck elegant contrast against his azure coat, and the white featherings by his hooves fluttered in the slight breeze. That was the sight that Lord Farnhar saw. 

Farnhar made to go after the Prince, and got a far as the where the Prince had made his dramatic exit moments earlier, but then paused, glancing at his sword. With what to kill him when he caught up? – For - alas! – a unicorn, even if it is the guise of the Shifter, cannot hold a sword. Farnhar grabbed the reins of the unicorn closest to him.

Belisarius swung off.

Farnhar pulled himself up. "He'ssss mine," he hissed through gritted teeth and a serpentine tongue. Just before he rode off, Farhar caught a glimpse of motion in place where it oughtn't be. He snarled when he saw the source – the remnants of the Deridian militia fleeing into various mine entrances. His cold mind ran through the calculations, hissing at what would happen if they escaped.

Farnhar pulled Mulherin around roughly to yell at Belisarius before he rode off. "It ends now!" He galloped off after the distant Prince – but his words drifted back to the standing general – "Whatever need be done! It ends tonight!"

Belisarius shuddered as he gazed as the vanishing figures of the militia. He knew his men couldn't follow – not to any grand effect, anyway. Shadow unicorns did just about as poorly underground as they did on water. And if they were antsy enough to spook at their own shadows – which they often did – what would keep the unicorns from spooking at the cave? But – alas, alas, the shade of night – he knew what he must do.

* * *

Half turning, Belisarius caught the eye of a young man holding a torch, no doubt in order to follow the Deridians below ground. The general relieved him of his torch. He issued the order to call back his men. 

General Belisarius, last in the line of an old family of Shadow Riders, walked over to an entrance to the coal mines. He paused, looking out over the bleak terrain, where he could see the narrowing gap between Lord and Prince. "Yes, Farnhar," he whispered, so that the lice in his hair could not have heard him, "Yes… it ended tonight."

He peered down the empty shaft, torch light not reflecting off the sooty lode that ran deep below him.

"May the world forgive me."

He dropped the torch.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

* * *

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Colonel Joash of the Deridian Militia and his unicorn Thraft heard wild calls and whooping coming from the front of the tunnel, behind them. "Fools," he muttered, "Do they want to get us caught?" A messenger, pushing deeper in the tunnel, grinned broadly at the commander, "Sir, the Shifter's army is retreating." 

Joash spared a glance at Thraft. "Why do you retreat when you're winning?" But the messenger had pushed on, delivering the good news to others.

Only a red glow racing up the tunnel and a sharp burst of heat answered his question before nobody could answer it at all.

* * *

The fire raced along the seams of coal, the porous rock giving it enough air to start. Often, the hundreds of tunnels and entrances kept the fire burning. Other times, the heat proved too great for the weak rock the coal was embedded in, and the roof of the lode exploded upwards, erupting in a great fire of shower and sparks. 

One such explosion happened as Mulherin pulled alongside of Riverwalker. The two, both with riders trying to kill each other, ran hard and fast, directly alongside of each other. Through his left eye, Mulherin saw a series of sparks jumping up in a mine entrance as he ran past. Riverwalker, on the right, looked farther ahead and saw an ominous glow emanating from the trench which ran parallel to his right side.

At the same time, Mulherin and Riverwalker saw the gaping the trench in front of them. Ears shot forward. It was wider than anything else either of them had ever jumped, and slightly higher on the further bank. Each fearing he had misjudged the distance in the dark, they both over-jumped it.

It was a good thing, too. As they reached they reached the crest of their jump, the thin surface of the trench floor below gave way, allowing a column of heat, sparks, shards of shale, and fire to billow upwards, showering both unicorns and riders with sparks. The metal buckled, cloth-woven girth of Riverwalker (as opposed to the carefully rigged leather one of Mulherin, designed for this night only) began to smolder and snapped.

As his saddle landed far behind him, Prince Eutrusckes dropped his sword and grabbed Riverwalker's mane, keeping him on the back of the Royal. Farnhar struck, sword catching Eutrusckes across the chest, left hand reaching out to pull the Prince to the ground as Farnhar jumped off after him. Mulherin, free of rider and therefore reins, did what he did best – kill things.

He sprung with a running leap sideways into Riverwalker, iron horn cutting deep into the Royal's lathered coat. Disengaging, he reared, fire glinting on his black, lather streaked coat, before cloaking him in smoke.

* * *

The Shadow Riders celebrated that night. They filled the taverns, cheering drunkenly when Farnhar came riding back into the town, carrying the head of Prince Eutrusckes. Belisarius sat on his own, nursing a bottle of whiskey, trying to forget that whenever he closed his eyes, he saw the torch, falling, reflecting off of nothing.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

* * *

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------It was known that Belisarius, forever the last of the line of his family, and of Generals of the Shadow Army for a very long time, was one the one who had condemned Deridia.

It was known that Eutrusckes, having fallen in the first, and for him, the last, race to be held on Deridian soil, died a glorious hero, a forsaken martyr, and a gods blasted fool.

It was known.

It was known as the Conquering of Deridia among the Riders, and in Balinor –they chose not to talk of it. They warily eyed the conquered land, but the Shifter made no further moves towards the 'civilized' lands. He even withdrew the vast majority of this army, leaving behind only a small contingent in the newly built barracks. Deridia behaved itself nicely, remembering on one side the burning of the mines, and on the other, the size and ferocity of the army which attacked them. And in the Deridia, life went on. Men who would have become officers in the militia instead became officers in the Shadow Army, but asides from that, crops grew, merchants traded. Apart from the flickering of the mine tunnels – for the fires would never be extinguished – little remained to tell of the Lord which ruled over them. Perhaps Deridia had always been evil.

It was to become one of the greatest holidays in both Deridia and the Valley of Fear. Yearly, grand festivities and celebrations were held on the anniversary of this day, eventually growing to span three days. The most prestigious unicorn competitions in all Terra were held in Deridia, jumping, and racing, and special 'high training' competitions. Every year, it culminated in a massive steeplechase, racing over oxers and trenches and fire pits, following nearly the same course taken by Farnhar and Eutrusckes on the way out, and by Farnhar alone on the way back into town. Neither Shifter nor a representative of the royal family of Balinor ever rode the steeplechase in the same year; however, contestants came from the farthest reaches of Terra, seeking fame, Fortune, and the gold purse that was awarded to the winner. And it would be held every year, on the day after the night Farnhar chased Eutrusckes, and would be held until the year came that the Princess of Balinor once again rode, this time against the greatest minion of the Shifter and his favorite mount.

Fin.


	18. Interludus Secundus

The Balinor Chronicles II: Souls of Fire  
Chapter Eighteen: Interludus Secundus

* * *

The Deskman stood looking out of his glassy-water window that looked into the Valley of the Rainbow. He was greatly trying and mostly failing to ignore the man who was rooting around his mahogany wood Desk.

In the center of the vast room, there was a black and white chessboard, which was busy setting itself with the strangest pieces: unicorns into the place of pawns, actual castles instead of rooks, and Sorcerers substituted in for bishops. The pieces were the finest in existence; their every detail made them appear real.

The man at the Desk discovered a white and yellow plaid cloth bag, no bigger than a large pocket, and seemingly made out the scraps from someone's apron. He grinned broadly; it was the sort of grin that the devil would run away from. "You always did like your little toys," the man commented, observing the bag scornfully. He dumped its contents out on the desk.

A pair of moons fell out, looking for all worlds like pieces of Swiss cheese. Next came a planet, its graceful rings circling round and round. The next shape is a galaxy, slowly spiraling in on itself. The man grins as he picks up a shooting star and

(the worlds below look up in terror)

tosses it out the window. The last things to fall out of the bag are a dozen stars. Some are sparkly; some are dull; nonetheless, they are all stars.

The man at the Desk (but not the Deskman) discards a star that is larger then his palm but scoops up the others. He sifts through them, admiring them all. He picks up a small one in his right hand; one that is colored, of all colors that exist, pink. He drops the others and holds this one between his thumb and forefinger, rolling its points back and forth down the length of his thumb.

"A long time ago," he says, "You told me a story where the white knight slayed the monster and saved the day. This time, while we are waiting," he pauses and gestures to the chessboard, which is still trying to figure out which pieces go where, "let me tell you the same story, but different."

And so he began:


	19. The Stranger's Tale

Many great stories were born in the time of the Balinorn Rulers King Decimus and Queen Theolana, with her unicorn Songweaver, though not all were created in Balinor Indeed, there were just as many created in the land of Rek, and in Jesse's Land. Many more were conceived in the Fiery Fields.

The reign of Farnhar the Dark, infamously brief, was the birthplace of heroes. These heroes were what kept all the Shifter Lords' lands from falling apart when the Wars of Succession occurred after the death of Farnhar. They were the ones who ensured that Diablo's dream would live on and that Arioch's Curse would eventually come to fruition. And the greatest of these heroes was Orion.

He was, in essence, the King's Champion, or in this case, the Lord's Champion. He did the dirty work that the Lord himself could not afford to do – killing certain important persons to prevent potentially disastrous occurrences, committing atrocities on the battlefield in order to attain victory; the list goes on. Orion was not always proud of his deeds, but there was one thing he always maintained – his word. He had sworn an oath of fealty, and he would keep it, or, pardon the cliché, die trying.

And the heart of the oath he swore to uphold was a single, simple clause: to protect and keep from harm the Shifter Lord and those associated with him….

So, in essence, Orion preformed his deeds out of loyalty. But, no, loyalty is not the proper word. It was more of a sort of love – not the romantic sort that possesses the birds and the bees, but a sort of admiration, respecting, living love – the sort of regard that families and friends hold for each other, even though they certainly won't bed with their best friend. It was the sort of love that led James to follow his Teacher on that forsaken Friday; it was the sort of love that kept bringing Lancelot back to Camelot and Arthur even though he feared his other sort of love for the Lady Guinevere.

It was this sort of love that possessed Orion to fall for his Lord. Alas, Alas, the Shade of Night.

* * *

Orion himself was a general in the Shadow Army. His mount Mintaka was tall enough to carry his great height and breadth, and the pair rode so well together that great victories were wrought using their iron. When Orion had arrived in the Valley of Fear, he had brought with him a large brown and black shepherd dog he called Procyon. When he began commanding, he had encountered many strange members of the Shadow Army – sort of hangers-on that had been conscripted at one point or another and found they preferred soldiering to slavery or a very long and painful death as they served as target practice. One such creature was Murzim – a yellow-eyed dark coated wolf that had been driven out of his pack for attempting mutiny, and then found refuge in the Valley. Murzim was already well acquainted with Mintaka, but the friendship between the wolf and Procyon exploded as the two formed a miniature impromptu pack. They accompanied Orion as faithfully as Mintaka himself. Together the four became the scourge of the world, scouring everything in their path that dared threaten the Shifter Lord Farnhar.

And as time passed, that danger loomed closer, in the form of Taurus the Bull.


End file.
